Glimpse of greatness
by Lost timemachine
Summary: Sarah finally realizes that she will never be fully able to tear Holmes and Watson apart. Oneshot.


**Glimpse of greatness**

Disclamer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. He was created by Arthur Conan Doyle. I also do not own the BBC series Sherlock. I do not make any money by writing this story. Please do not sue me.

Dedication: For Milwaukee Meg

Summary: Sarah finally realizes that she will never be fully able to tear Holmes and Watson apart.

Author´s note: The last chapter of Books and Bentleys is not ready yet, but I have had this story on my computer for such a long time so I decided to post it before the second season starts.

The waiting room of the clinic was empty save for a middle-aged man with light grey eyes. The room itself was painted a creamy white with two colorful paintings of the English countryside and worn chairs lined the walls. A stack of old magazines was on a small table beside a teddy bear.

Sarah stood in her office, halfway between the door and the desk holding an out print of John´s blog in her right hand and a thin file in the other. The blog posts had become longer and more detailed, describing Sherlock´s observations, deductions and wit. However, he was not a completely reliable narrator. He did not mention hundreds of little moments he shared with his friend, moments that were more important than all those cases. But he wrote of the mad chases through London, of Sherlock playing the violin and their interactions with the police. But he demanded the reader´s respect when he wrote about his friend.

Sarah placed her finger at the name of the next patient. She called his name, looking him straight in the eye and gesturing him to come inside the inspection room. There was something familiar in his face, but she brushed it off. She had seen thousands of patients in her days as a doctor; he had most likely come here before. The man left his umbrella on the chair. Her fingers had barely brushed the cold metal doorknob of the door that lead to the inspection room when Sherlock Holmes burst into the room.

His coat was damp and he looked at her with a glow that she knew was not reserved for her.

"Has John left? " Sherlock asked rather breathlessly as his eyes scanned the room for traces of evidence of John´s whereabouts. The clock ticked in the corner, reminding Sarah that work should be over by now. The door to John´s office is half ajar, and they can hear John bid farewell to the elderly man and remind him to take his medicine. The old man walked away, and Sherlock called John´s name.

"There was a murder a few blocks away", Sherlock explained "and there are a few medical details that have to be cleared up so it can be fully solved." The great detective hesitated for a second, mindful of how Sarah clenched her jaw and then continued as John walked towards him, a cup of tea in his hand.

"I don´t trust those people on the forensics team, so I decided to fetch you", the detective said, glancing at the painting of a field on the wall. The idea of a retirement in the country and keeping bees surfaced briefly, but the tall man shook his head, this was no time for such thoughts .But he could almost smell the faint aroma of honey and roses.

"Want to come?" Sherlock said casually, but John could see a hopeful, slightly vulnerable glint in his eyes. This was a formality, of course John would come, but Sherlock liked being certain.

John´s eyes lit up and grabbed his jacket, hurriedly shrugging his doctor´s coat off and hanging it on its peg. All traces of exhaustion was gone from his face and he even gave a positive hum as he emerged from the office and the detective could glimpse one of John´s knitted sweaters underneath his jacket. Sherlock grinned and immediately began informing John about his newest case with the uttermost enthusiasm. Doctor Watson listened intently, nodding and asking questions as they walked briskly side by side out of the clinic and into the night.

They would speak of this later as the golden years, ignoring that in the beginning this had only been supposed to be a temporary solution. It was not as if they would spend a large part of their lives in each other's company.

Sarah watched them leave, feeling rooted to the spot. She was the safe choice, the logical, socially acceptable choice.

Realization had dawned on her.

Even if they would fall in love and get married she knew, with a sort of strange sudden finality as she watched their retreating backs, that when she would leave to visit her family John would immediately go back to Baker Street and back to Sherlock.

For you may take the Watson out of Baker Street but you can never take Baker Street out of Watson.

She slipped into the inspection room, aware of that John had forgotten to say goodbye to her and that she had just seen one of the most intense friendships in the world. Mycroft Homes sat in the chair next to the desk, his grey eyes fixed upon her. She asks him what has happened to him, her mind full of questions she knows she would never get the proper answer for.

"What will happen to the great Sherlock Holmes", she muttered bitterly to herself as she sat down by the computer, "when your dear John will grow tired of this life of solving crimes?"

Mycroft looks at her as she types furiously; he has not said anything about why he is here in the first place. He stands up, and smoothes out the wrinkles in his expensive suit absentmindedly, ready to make some excuse and leave. He could tell her about Sherlock knocking on the door of John´s house in the late evening, of all of the notes and text messages Sherlock will send, of sudden happy smiles of old friends reunited but he does not.

He leaves the clinic, his umbrella in hand and he smiles slightly.

Author´s note: Please leave a comment, it makes me happy. This is un-beta´d and will most likely be updated later on.

This story was inspired by noticing just how many times Watson promptly goes with Holmes to assist him on a case and leaves his wife alone at home.


End file.
